


A Farewell To Anywhere Else

by TimConwaysElephantStory



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Light on tags because spoilers, post-Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 16:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18695242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimConwaysElephantStory/pseuds/TimConwaysElephantStory
Summary: You can never go home again. That is, until you do.





	A Farewell To Anywhere Else

The Champion had not set eyes on the imposing cliffs and chained statues of Kirkwall in more than seven years. For a long time she had been sure she never would again. Times change, however, and grand, important decisions are rarely ever so grand or important as they seem when they are made. The city had calmed immeasurably since the Champion last saw it disappear on the horizon, and for the first time there didn’t seem to be a single reason left to stay away. Indeed, there was at least one pressing reason to return.

Hawke’s first trip to Kirkwall had been in a bigger ship, shut down in the hold. The one she sailed in today one was on the smaller side and chartered for her especial use - meaning she was allowed to walk its decks as she pleased. The spray off the cold sea was worth it for not being cooped up as the vessel swelled one way and then the other. After actually being on land, having it in view was the next best thing, and that land was coming rapidly closer as the ship passed between the Twins and sailed down toward the docks. 

Dawn was just reaching the ancient stone streets and the less ancient wooden piers as the ship pulled into port. It would have been better to have arrived a few hours earlier, Hawke thought, but dawn would do. Most of Kirkwall’s inhabitants tended, unless the last several years had changed them dramatically, to be up late into the night and quiet at the morning. It would not do for the Champion to be seen too soon. That is, if she wanted to get anything done without being watched or followed. She wore a deep hood and baggy garments for that very reason. Her Champion’s garb was bundled into her pack with what few other personal items were worth lugging all over Thedas. With head down and a heavy step, passersby weren’t to know she was anyone of note, if they cared to look at all.

Walking down the once intimately familiar path from the docks to Lowtown felt strange. There were new walls and old staircases, old vendors in new buildings. Every time Hawke thought she was losing her way, her feet found it again all on their own. It was not so much conscious recollection as muscle memory. There was something of a dreamlike quality to the whole experience. She passed a corner with a large chunk missing at around head height. The memory of Aveline making that hole during the Qunari occupation came suddenly and vividly, as if it had happened days ago. The sharp edges of it, as of Hawke’s memories, had worn smooth now. Some local “artist” had doodled sharp teeth onto the top and bottom ridges of the damaged wall as if the whole thing were a great shark’s jaw.

The Alienage, out of the way as it was, suffered less than other parts of the city from Kirkwall’s many turmoils. A long scar ran down the length of the Vhenadahl that looked to have been made by magic. It was new to Hawke, and she wondered if it had been made when the Mages rebelled, or perhaps during Starkhaven’s attempted annexation of the city. Hell, maybe it was even during a conflict of which Hawke wasn’t the cause, directly or indirectly.

Hawke rapped twice on a familiar wooden door in one corner of the square. There was a clattering sound, and then some shuffling.

“Who is it?” Came a voice from just behind the door.

“The Queen of Fereldan,” replied Hawke.

“I don’t think that’s true. You know, if you try and be all smart with me you don’t get in.”

“Oh, be nice, Merrill, I’ve barely slept in two days.”

There was a silence, and then a quiet “No…” before the door swung outward.

In the doorway stood the same small, bright-eyed woman Hawke had not seen in half a decade. Her mouth hung open in surprise, but she cracked a smile as Hawke pulled back her hood ever so slightly. Merrill, thinking quickly, ushered her inside.

The door had barely closed before Merrill’s arms were around Hawke, squeezing tightly. Hawke squeezed tentatively back. They separated, and Merrill led her further in to an apartment that was still as small, but much better furnished than all those years ago.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” She began, “I had no idea! Well, I suppose you’d know that because you didn’t write to say you were coming. Why didn’t you? I’d have come to the docks, although I suppose it’s best not to be too obvious. I just can’t believe you’re actually _here,_ I thought you might never - but of course Varric’s Viscount now so there’s nothing much to be afraid of as far as the city goes. I can’t wait to tell Aveline. Did she know? It doesn’t matter really. Would you like a tea? I do have tea.”

Merrill looked expectantly at Hawke, who had settled into an armchair.

“Alright, in order. I decided to come back suddenly and a letter wouldn’t have beaten me here. Aveline has no idea. And I would love some tea.”

“Wonderful,” replied Merrill, as she busied with a teapot.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” said Hawke, “Never thought of trading up?”

Merrill shook her head, hair twice as long as when they’d last seen each other, “I have rather a position here in the Alienage, somehow. At least, they like me better here than anyone in my clan ever did.”

“I’m impressed at what you’ve done with the house.”

“Oh, you noticed?” Merrill smiled and reddened. “Just a few small things, to fill the place out, you see.”

“Very homey. Sort of Lowtown-chic,” agreed Hawke.

Merrill set the water to boil above a fire she conjured with a wave. She took the chair across from Hawke, on the other side of a table barely big enough for two, and seemed to hesitate a moment.

“I hate to pry, but I did notice, and I’m not sure if I imagined it -”

“Wait,” said Hawke quickly, “I promise we will have this talk in a few days, but there are things I have to sort out first.”

Merrill smiled even wider than before, and nodded. “Well then, tell me what’s been happening since you last wrote me and don’t leave anything else out!”

And so Hawke did.

* * *

 

Hours later Hawke had well and truly given up the advantage of arriving in Kirkwall so early. The streets bustled, which brought her a certain degree of camouflage in compensation. That morning she and Merrill had talked through her time with the Wardens, after leaving the Inquisition. Merrill had shared her own tales of seeing to the organisation of the Alienage, which was suffering an as-yet-unexplained population decline, and Varric’s rise to the seat of Viscount. It was always comforting to hear they were all well, even if she already knew so intellectually. Hawke would send a message to Varric and Aveline in the keep, rather than go there herself and risk attracting attention. They would both understand. 

Going by the alienage meant was that Merrill was able to alert Orana to Hawke’s return. She was now the only person in the city with keys to the old Amell estate. Hawke made her way around to what once would have been the servant’s entrance, and knocked in a pre-arranged sequence. Orana was, as ever, instantaneous in responding to a request. Hawke was inside in a few moments.

“Welcome home Mi- ah- Messere Hawke. It’s good to see you well after all this time.”

Hawke began to shed her cloak and hood, relieved, “You’re a lifesaver, I wasn’t keen on breaking in to my own house. Sorry to impose, though.”

Orana shook her head, “Not at all. Even if I didn’t owe you everything, the estate paid my salary since you left. I tried to have it stopped as I hadn’t earned it, but Var- the Viscount said it was your wish.”

“It was. You also have a home here as long as you want it.”

“I appreciate that, but I’ve met someone since you’ve been away, we married last spring. He’s an elf too, and has a carpenter’s in Lowtown. It’s nowhere near as grand as here, but it’s ours,” Orana shrugged, looking quietly pleased.

Hawke threw up her hands dramatically, “Maker, you only have to be gone seven years and suddenly everything changes!” She winked to reassure her still-timid servant, “Congratulations, Orana, I hope you’re very happy together.”

“Oh, we are. Of course, I can return every day to serve you if you need me,” said Orana, bowing.

“That won’t be necessary. Your time is your own now.” Hawke threw her cloak over a stray stool. “I’d like to visit some time though, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Messere Hawke, whenever you like. Do you need anything else tonight?”

“Nothing. Please, go home to your family.”

Orana hesitated by the door. Something of her time as a slave lingered in her mannerisms, even though she had improved so much since they had first met. It pained Hawke more than a little.

“There’s food in the larder to last a few days, and I’ve made the bed, and a fire, in your old room. It really is good to see you again, Mistress.”

“You too, Orana. Goodnight.”

As Orana left the house fell silent. If Hawke strained she could hear the crackle of burning wood from her room. She thought of her mabari, Barkley, and hoped Aveline might bring him home soon.

Hawke had eaten aboard the ship, and would save Orana’s provisions for the evening. She was, however, growing weary. Finding solid rest aboard a ship had always proved difficult, and the sickness didn’t help things. The thought of fresh sheets and uninterrupted rest was intoxicating.

She plodded up the staircase, pack and bow in hand, ignoring ghosts that threatened to make themselves known; Mother’s closed bedroom door; Barkley’s toothmarks in the bannister; Anders’s manifesto on the shelf. There had been no time after the rebellion to set the place in order, and even if there had it was last on her list of priorities. Reason aside, the reminders hurt somewhere deep, but distant. With effort, they could be the memories of other poor unfortunate, nothing to do with her.

Hawke lifted the latch on her bedroom door, let it swing open, then paused. There was movement at one of the windows. Anyone less paranoid might have missed it, but it was there. Just the brush of fabric on carpet that belied either an intruder, an open window, or both. The house, however, had been shut up for years, and Hawke had never been one to take chances. Silently, she freed an arrow from the small clutch she kept with her bow, then notched it securely and pulled back the string. In a single heartbeat she leapt forward, back to the wall furthest from the window, and froze. There was something behind the curtain.

“Keep silent and I’ll ensure you never speak again.”

The curtain shifted, “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” Hawke knew that voice. Her heart lifted, instinctively, then fell. She lowered the bow.

“Fenris-”

“Next time shoot first, I could have been anyone.” He strode toward her, calm tone at odds with the urgency with which he reached out for her. They met, first bodies, then lips. To Hawke it was like the first breath of air after drowning - necessary and natural and exactly what she needed. They parted, but held each other close.

“What are you doing here,” asked Hawke, “How did you even know I was coming?”

“Orana. I was going home and saw her enter. Your being here was more a wish than anything.” Fenris ran a thumb down her cheek. “You had a good reason not to tell me you were coming back, then?”

It was not an accusation, but an assumption borne of years spent equal parts together and apart. He knew she would not leave him out of her plans without cause.

“I had to leave Weisshaupt suddenly. A letter wouldn’t have made it any quicker than I did. That isn’t even a boast and you know how much I like to boast.” Replied Hawke, weakly trying for humour.

Fenris was not amused in the least. He let go of her and straightened, alert. “What happened? Were you threatened? How bad is this, Hawke?”

Hawke leaned against the bed, wishing she could shed her travelling clothes but knowing now was not the moment for that. It was not unfair for him to assume she’d been driven out of Weisshaupt. It happened more often than not when she left, well, anywhere at all.

“It’s not… bad.”

“Hawke.”

“I know, and you know this kind of thing isn’t easy for me.” Hawke took a breath, then took Fenris’s hand. He stared sharply at her as she moved his hand downward to her stomach. They were both still. She knew exactly how he was feeling in that moment, as she had felt the same thing only a month earlier.

“How? When? I don’t…” he trailed off, at a loss.

Hawke pulled away to sit down on the foot of the bed. “Well, when a human and an elf care about each other- “

“Not now, Hawke.”

“You know when; Weisshaupt, when you visited on the way back from the border. It was a surprise, we weren’t being particularly careful. One thing lead to another…” she made circles with one hand.

There was no immediate reply, and in that moment, Hawke was sure there never would be. When eventually he spoke, it was far worse than the silence.

“We’ve been careless before and there’s never been… Are you sure it wasn’t, that there wasn’t someone else?” Fenris would not meet her eyes.

Hawke could not have been more hurt if he had reached in and crushed her heart right in her chest. “How could you possibly think that? After the last what, fifteen years?”

“Isabella-”

“Once! Before us!” Hawke turned from him and forced herself to calm. There was something more going on here. “But you never cared about that. I know you didn’t.”

She heard him begin to pace along the windowed wall. Hawke might have played out the worst-case scenarios of this moment in her mind, but even then, she had not truly believed they would play out. She knew him. Or at least thought she did.

As was her response to most conflict, Hawke turned back to Fenris and began to talk, “I’ve made my decision about this, but I can’t make yours. If you don’t want to be a part of it then I’ll manage. I’ve sent a letter to Bethany- “

He flinched.

In an instant she knew, “Maker, is that what this is about? Are you afraid that it’ll be like Bethany?”

Fenris took a step toward her, “Were our child to be like you sister in any other way would be a blessing, but that? I can’t promise, here and now, that I would be able to stay. I want to, but I can’t.”

Hawke was crushed. She was angry. Bitterly, she understood.

“I want to say I can do this with you,” he continued, “Like we’ve done everything else together, but I won’t lie to you. I know who I am and I might not be able to stay if it turns out to be a mage.”

“You never know until you try,” said Hawke, smiling coolly.

They were close now, but not touching. Something between them had fractured.

“Trying could be more painful than not. For everyone.”

“So, what?” snapped Hawke, “You think leaving wouldn’t be?”

He took a seat on the foot of the bed, head down. “No.”

Hawke sat beside him. There had never been such a distance between the two of them, even when they had literally been a world apart. “Then don’t.” She said simply. “I know it’s sudden. Maker, I’ve had a whole month to wrap my mind around it and I’ve barely managed to.”

“I’m sorry, Hawke. I know there isn’t anyone else, but when I realised what this meant… Well, if you’d strayed then I wouldn’t have to be the man contemplating abandoning his child.”

That stung. Hawke pushed past it.

“Look, let’s not make any decisions right now,” she turned to Fenris and took both his hands in hers, “I know that I want this, you can decide for yourself.”

“You never said anything about it before.”

“It wasn’t like I’d thought a lot about children, with everything else going on,” Hawke shrugged, “Up until recently I assumed we just couldn’t. Maybe an elf-human thing, or that I’d gotten too old. It didn’t bother me. But then when it happened, I just knew that I wanted it. Maybe there’s something about losing most of your family that makes you want to hold on to whatever you can.”

Fenris finally met her gaze, “I understand, and I want to.”

“Then take some time. The Warden healer said I’d have six months - five now - and not to offend but there’s not a lot for you to do between now and then. We’ve got a pretty clear deadline on this one,” said Hawke, trying to smile.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me for even considering it.”

“It hurts,” Hawke admitted, “But you deserve the same choice I had. There were options, with the healers. I could have pretended it never happened.”

The lack of sleep was catching up to Hawke, even as she sat stewing in both of their feelings. There was also a nagging sense that maybe when she woke up all of her problems would be solved, childish as it seemed even to her. Decided, she dropped Fenris’s hands and crawled up the bed toward the pillows. She collapsed back into them and began working her boots off. They smelt. She didn’t care. One, then the other were tossed into the corner with a thump. Hawke couldn’t be arsed shedding any more clothing.

Fenris had stayed at the foot of the bed, “I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” shrugged Hawke, eyes closed, “There’ll be plenty of time for being alone tomorrow.”

Hawke didn’t stay awake long enough to know if he joined her.

**Author's Note:**

> Pull me up on any mistakes, I beg you. I write tired almost exclusively.
> 
> This Hawke is the same one as mentioned in my "Interlude of Letters" ongoing (if slowly) fic. IIRC Trespasser confirms that Hawke goes back to Kirkwall eventually to hang with Varric so why not give it some soap-opera flair?


End file.
